


Carry on, Idjits!

by Kriz



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cas is sad, Crowley is happy, F/M, Gabriel is coming home to fix everything, M/M, Post-Episode: s09e23 Do You Believe In Miracles?, Sammy is looking for him, also sorry, and a drunk, and because SOMEONE is a freaking demon, because Gabriel is the best, because I love slowburn, because i suck at writing, characters' may behave out of character, dean's a demon, just read it, my take on season 10, sorry - Freeform, that'll change people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-10 22:39:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2042958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kriz/pseuds/Kriz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been two days since Metatron killed Dean.<br/>Two days since Sam said goodbye to his brother.<br/>Two days since the Mark turned him into a Demon.<br/>Two days since their world once again got ripped apart. Like they haven’t suffered enough already.<br/>Now all Sammy wants to do is get drunk and die, Cas just wants to be left alone, Crowley wants to bathe in the blood of his enemies (It’s supposed to be good for your skin! And also, they deserve it) and Gabriel just wants some recognition, damnit. He’s an archangel, for heaven’s sake!<br/>At least business in Ash’s Roadhouse is good!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I can’t believe the news today (I close my eyes to make them go away)

**Author's Note:**

> Well, hello there!  
> So, you found your way here. This is my first official fic. I hope you like it :D  
> I just couldn't take the wait for season 10 anymore and because my head is full of theories anyways, I decided to write them all down. I may suck at it, but I'll give my best!  
> I'll try to include all the new spoilers in my writing (or not, if I don't like them) and it'll get updated at least once a week, I promise!  
> So, without further ado, let's see what everyone is up to! :D  
> Hugs.

„I’m proud of us.“

Sam grabbed his glass, but found it empty. Again.

He decided not to bother with glasses anymore. Fuck sophisticated. Fuck civilization. He was drunk. Or well, at least he was trying to be.

His hand eye coordination was a bit off. He couldn’t really reach the bottle. Or maybe he just didn’t know anymore which one the real one was.

Sammy started giggling. He’d always been a happy drunk. Dean used to make fun of that. Tears joined the giggles. The giggles turned hysterical.           

Sam had never really been one to drink his feelings. That was more Dean’s thing. Or his Dad’s. Or Bobby’s. But sitting there in the bunker, too drunk to notice that he was crying (or giggling for that matter), he decided from now on this would be his way of honoring their deaths: drinking away his consciousness until he was suffocated by his own vomit. And if he was lucky, that would happen soon.

Or he could always reconsider about that driving of a bridge thing.

He had come close the last time Dean had disappeared (Sam liked to think of it as disappearing instead of dying, mainly because his older brother had a way of always coming back – even if he shouldn’t), but really in the end all he had really needed was a reasons to go on. Because he still had had some hope left.

Maybe he should get a dog again. His brother couldn’t really complain, could he? Sam briefly wonders if they let drunks adopt dogs. He should look probably look that up.

Or he could ask Amalia. And tell her about his brother. She would understand.

Had Sammy ever told her, that his brother wasn’t dead? Maybe…

Then again, it wasn’t really the dead thing that bothered Sammy these days, it was the NOT STAYING DEAD part.

It’s been two days, since “I’m proud of us.”

Great last words, by the way. Sam liked them. Maybe he would reuse them for his death.

Except no one would hear him. Damn those hunters for always dying.

Crowley’s face was burned into his brain. The look on his face.

Like he actually cared. Like he actually felt remorse, when he told him what had happened. When he claimed he hadn’t known.

Because behind him stood Dean, more stoic than ever, unmoved by everything going on around him. Like one of the guard’s in front of the Buckingham Palace. What were they called again? Sammy didn’t know. Sammy didn’t care. Sammy was too drunk to care.

All he cared about was Dean with wearing of those hats.

His huge frame was shock by another fit of giggles. Dean would look stupid.

Or maybe not.

From early childhood on, Sam had accepted a few universal truth:

1\. His father didn’t care about him.

2\. His father cared even less about Dean.

3\. They were all Dean cared about.

4\. If he did his puppy eyes, he’d get anything. From anyone. Even Dad.

And most importantly 5. No matter the situation, anyone who spent more than ten seconds looking at Dean Winchester fell in love. Or at least lust. Which was why he hated bringing home girlfriends. Or any friends for that matter. Because that was without adding his personality to the equation.

Sam loved his older brother. He adored him. Wanted to be like him.

Instead he became their dad. Life sucked.

Two days ago. Every second was burned into his skull.

He was about to summon Crowley, when the demon appeared, with that stupid look on his face, Dean behind him like an honor guard, eyes black holes of nothingness.

“I’m sorry, Sam. I didn’t know, Sam. I just heard rumors, Sam. He’s a demon now, Sam. He’s my first knight, Sam. You don’t have to sell your soul, Sam.”

Sammy felt like dying.

His older brother, the righteous man, whose soul was pure enough to break the first seal, was now a demon, and he, Sam, could do nothing to fix this.

He could never fix anything. Dean always fixed everything.

Except himself. Dean could never be bothered with that.

Stupid self-hate. Stupid self-esteem issues. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Sammy grabbed the bottle again. He drank.

 

\----- x -----

The king of hell sat in his chair and stared down into the arena. For the past two days that’s all he’s been doing. He couldn’t say he was bored. Yet.

Heaven, hell, purgatory – even earth – hat felt it: The awakening of a knight. HIS knight. His first knight. The knight of hell.

Hell had celebrated. Heaven had wept. Purgatory had trembled in fear (wasn’t like they forgot the last time Dean was there to visit). And earth, well, they were confused, as always.

Humans! They were all Jon Snow. They knew nothing. Gotta love them and their ignorance.

Crowley smiled gleefully. Oh, all these non-believers, who had thought him weak. Thought he was en league with the Winchesters. Had thought him a traitor. Oh, how he had shown them. Crowley loved it.

No, he hadn’t known this would happen, but he had hoped. Had hoped, that one day those denim-clad nightmares would be his. And his wish had come true. Or at least half of it.

Now he watched his first knight of hell, Dean Winchester, fighting the best and most loyal demons (and a few he just wanted to see die) he possessed. Because having only one knight was boring. So they would make more.

Oh, it was marvelous. Like a fight club. But without rules (and Brad Pitt, but that was really just a matter of time).

Well, okay, he wasn’t allowed to kill anyone (unless Crowley said otherwise, so it was more like everyone).

Still, it was a massacre. A bloodbath. All his demons were overjoyed.

They had thought him weak, when he stopped torture. Had thought he was no real demon. But Crowley had just tricked them.

Though, it was true. With him as king of hell, fewer souls did get tortured. But the torture they got was far more effective. Crowley was a good king of hell. Even Lucifer had respected him, after all.

Crowley smiled. Everything was good in hell.

 

\----- x -----

Castiel stood in his favorite heaven – the Tuesday afternoon of an autistic man who drowned in his bathtub in 1953 - enjoying the quiet. He was finally alone. At least for the moment.

Castiel had been standing there for two days, not once moving, while all most of heaven’s angels came by to ask for direction. He hadn’t spoken once.

The angels, of course, were mourning. They were confused. They were afraid. Like sheep without a Sheppard after smelling a wolf.

Of course, no one seemed to consider Castiel’s feelings in all of this. As generally good as angels may be, they were also incredibly selfish. They believed Castiel could lead them, so he was expected to lead them, whether he wanted to or not. After all, the angels NEEDED someone to lead them and, once again, they had decided to give this honor to him. It seemed like the logical conclusion.

If he were human, he would have snorted in disgust or laughed, but he wasn’t human, so he just sat there, unmoving, enjoying this beautiful Tuesday afternoon. But, like all beautiful things, his quiet time should soon come to an end.

The new visitor though, didn’t say a word at first. He didn’t ask questions. He just stood next to him.

Until he couldn’t take it anymore. Gabriel had never been one to stay quiet for long. He preferred the chatter of Ash’s roadhouse by far to this heaven. If patience was a virtue, he surely did not possess it. And neither did god, for that matter. After all creating a universe in seven days? If he’d just taken some more time for everything, maybe the world wouldn’t be as flawed. Just saying.

“Well, this is mildly boring, don’t cha think?” He announced after endless minutes of staring into space. “I’m happy to inform you, most of our brothers and sisters have returned home. Not that you don’t know that already, right? They all seemed rather keen on visiting you and most of them preferred to ignore me, if you can believe that!”

“Oh Cassie, why so blue? It’s like someone has died!” Gabriel laughed at his own lame attempt at humor, but quickly sobered again. It wasn’t like he had never lost anyone before. Angels may take longer to form attachments (or generally develop any kind of feeling), but once they were there, they were here to stay. “Now, come on, put a smile on your face. If you want my help fixing this mess, you’ll have to cheer up, mate! Light up those pretty blue eyes that make all the girls go crazy! And boys.”

“And how do expect to fix this?” Castiel’s voice was barely a whisper, but Gabriel still counted it as a win. He HAD spoken after all.

“Now you’re just being cruel, Brother! You wound me deeply!” And then with a wink and snap he teleported them away.

 

\----- x -----

Funnily enough not too far from Castiel’s very silent favorite heaven a door was ripped open so violently, the bang with which it hit the wall was nearly loud enough to drown out the sound of the ripper yelling: “Idjits!”

Chuck Shurley, who set on his usual chair at the bar of Ash’s Roadhouse, filched. Other than that, no one really reacted to Bobby’s antics. By now everyone was used to them.

Besides: All of them were hunters. If they’d be scared so easily, well, they’d be killed rather fast – not that they weren’t all in fact dead, but: technicalities.

Bobby walked up to the bar, his wife following him slowly, and took the bear the younger man, Ash, already had prepared for him. “So the news has reached ya after all?” He asked with a smile. “How about we find a solution, then?”

“Swear, as long as those boys are still alive, I’ll never gonna retire. I finally go to heaven and how to I spent my time? Cleaning up their messes! Because I didn’t have enough of that being alive.” Agreeing sounds followed Bobby’s declaration. The way things were going though, Ash thought to himself, he couldn’t see the brothers dying and staying dead any time soon – or at all. Then again he didn’t wanna imagine how much worse everything would be once they did.

Of course, Ash didn’t voice any of those thoughts out loud. He was surrounded by hunters after all - if anyone knew those truths, it was them.


	2. Take these broken wings and please fly away (far away from me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sammy gets some visitors...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, another week, another chapter! Has it only been a week? It felt longer!  
> Anyways, this whole thing is coming along nicely, I’m just starting on chapter 4 and most of the key chapters are already written – not. I’m just kidding, I have no idea what I’m doing here, I’m just pressing random keys and hope they turn into words. Worked so far! :D  
> I should stop talking, shouldn’t I? I’ll stop now! Yeah, that would be a good idea.  
> Back to Sammy...

It was a whole week later and Sam was just returning from a liquor run (Yes, he was still drinking! Yes, he had been driving drunk! No, he wasn’t sorry! Sue him. He was an experienced driver, maybe not Dean Level of experience, since Dean had learned to drive somewhere around the time Sammy broke his arm (connected? I think not) and had had a fake driving permit since before he was 14, but he HAD driven his fair share of time, so …) when, upon entering the library, he found the two angels waiting for him.

Sam didn’t know what shocked him more: Gabriel being alive or seeing people in general. Not that it really mattered. The only thing that did matter was him very nearly dropping his bags - because he really didn’t want to have to leave again. Soon he would start to resemble being sober again. So thank, well not god since god was an asshole but whomever (how about Kali? Kali was hot! He could start praying to Kali. Yeah, he totally would), his reflexes were still sharp enough to catch the bottles before they hit the floor. But it was a close call. Fucking angels.

“Well, don’t you look just peachy?” Gabriel asked a mocking grin on his face. Sam felt the intense need to punch something. So much for being a happy drunk.

“Do you need anything? Or is this just a social call? Because if it is – I have other obligations!” He felt a sense of pride for his words weren’t slurred at all. Man, he was good. They’d totally let him adopt a dog now!

Gabriel’s grin though only widened, “Oh, don’t let us keep you from drinking! In fact, if you have a spare glass, fill it up for me! I just spent a whole week trying to organize heaven – gotta tell you, those angels are really starting to annoy me! No imagination, no sense of adventure, a deep distrust for the sheer idea of free will – basically sheep waiting for a Sheppard to guide them. Makes me feel like a navigation system!”

“I don’t do glasses – or sharing.” The archangel didn’t really seem to care that he was being rude, but Cas tilted his head, worry radiation of off him so thick it nearly chocked Sam. And for a second he really, truly, deeply hated the angel.

He stopped seeing his war buddy, the man who helped them stop the Apocalypse, the Leviathans, Metatron. All he saw in this moment was Dean’s best friend; the angel Dean had spent a year in Purgatory for - when he could have returned straight to him; the angel Dean had been so willing to trust, when everything had told him not to; the angel who saved Dean, when Sam couldn’t. He really, truly, hated deeply hated him.

Because the truth was, Sam, while not as codependent as his brother, was incredibly dependent of him. Dean was Sam’s anchor, he was his safe place, he was his family. Dean had taken care of Sam for as long as he could remember. Dean had raised Sam. Whatever Sam was, whoever Sam was, he was due to Dean. Dean had MADE him. Dean was his brother, his best friend, his hero, his FATHER, the person who knew everything about him. There wasn’t a single thing in his life, a single fact about him, hell, a single thought he had had, which Dean didn’t know about.

But despite his codependence, despite his feeling of responsibility, despite him being his life mission; this was a one way street. Dean would never let his brother see him, not fully. There parts of Dean’s personality, facts about him Sam would never know, would never even be aware of. Dean was as much of a mystery to his brother now as he had been when he was a little kid.

Because Dean hated being open, vulnerable. Because he didn’t want anybody know all of him, not Sam, not Bobby, not Liza.

Except Cas. Cas could. Cas would. Because Dean let him. Whether the angel knew it or not.

It had nothing to do with Dean’s obvious sexual attraction to the other man or him reciprocation those feelings (because Sammy was all too aware of that, no matter his words, his brother wasn’t, hasn’t and wouldn’t ever be straight. He was just pretending. Because sometimes hunters sucked. A lot.), and everything to do with them connecting on a level he would never understand. A more profound bond. Two simple soldiers forced to be more than they thought they were. Two neglected sons believing in their father no matter what. Two men with too much heart fighting not to feel at all. Kindred spirits. War buddies. Soulmates. If you believed in that kind of crap.

Yeah, for a second Sam really, truly, deeply hated Castiel.

“What do you want?” He asked, returning to the present.

“Your help actually.” Castiel felt uncomfortable. What he had to ask of Sam was a lot, was too much. The other man had already lost so much, had GIVEN so much, he felt sick just thinking about asking for more.

But they didn’t have another option. If they wanted a chance in reopening heaven, in saving the world, it had to be done, Sam needed to help.

“Well, turns out, there is a way for lil Cassie here to get his full force back, to become a full angel again.” Gabriel continued, ignoring the tension both men radiated. He didn’t really get why. Both had loved that ape and instead of connecting through their shared loss they started a mental pissing contest about who was worse off. Father, how he missed the times when he was still able to hide from all this!

“How?” By now they seemed to be drawing Sam’s interest. That was something.

“Glad you’re asking, Sammy,” he continued fully aware how annoying he was. But maybe giving them a common enemy, someone to hate together, would stop the animosity between the friends. Because Gabriel would need the help of both of them and Cas as a full blown angel if he wanted a chance at saving the universe – something he never thought he’d be doing. Again.

“Well, currently Cas’ is living with a stolen grace and it is running low. Essentially an angel is nothing more than a soul – with grace and wings. They are like extensions of the soul, both part of it and powered by it. Which is why an angel gets stronger, when he takes on more souls: more energy to feed off – though all the power will corrupt and destroy it in the long run, as you might remember. Which brings us to Cassi’s very special case: his grace is gone and replaced by another angel’s, which means it will eventually run out of juice - because it doesn’t get recharged. So we need to connect it to a power supply.”

“And how can I be of help?” Sam asked, afraid they would want to tap into his soul. It wouldn’t be the first time an angel had touched it, but Kali, that was something he truly dreaded. Never again, if he could help it!

“We have found a spell to connect my soul with Theo’s grace.” Cas explained softly, hesitation evident in his voice “But since it is about connecting the essence of a human with the essence of an angel, it needs to be done by representative of both.”

Sam understood. For a second he felt tempted to decline, anger still burning hot inside, but this was his brother’s best friend. No matter what Dean was now, his BROTHER, the man that had died a week and two days ago would never forgive him.

So instead he smiled. “Then I better go sober up, right? Don’t want me to mess up and accidently kill all of us!” He chuckled darkly. That’s what he needed – killing the only hope to saving the world. But maybe helping would be a good thing. Maybe it would help HIM. Maybe he could be okay after all.

More optimistic than he had felt in weeks, Sammy went to shower.

 

\----- x -----

He didn’t feel. He felt no pain, no anger, no fatigue. He just was.

He didn’t think. He didn’t think about those souls screaming in agony when the blade mutilated them. He didn’t think about where he was or what he had become. He just was.

Caught up in a beautiful dance of pain and bloodshed he became one with his blade. And felt whole for what seemed to be the first time in his life.

Dean Winchester had stopped existing. Because he had decided to do so. Because he didn’t want to face what he was, what he had become. Because that would be too painful.

So he just handed over his control to the Blade. Stopped overthinking life and just existed. Gave himself up to the sensation of being. The Blade could managed the rest.

Once again Dean Winchester was in hell.

Once again Dean Winchester shed blood in hell.

Once again Dean Winchester let himself be the monster within.

And it was marvelous.

 

\----- x -----

In the end it was surprisingly easy to fix Cas’ little grace problem (really, all that was needed was a bit concentration and blood) and before he knew it, Sam found himself in the Bunker kitchen eating for the first time since Kali knows when.

And man, was he hungry. So hungry he didn’t even care about how much Gabriel reminded him of another archangel he had met, sitting there blasting Mr Mister’s Broken Wings from the top of his lungs. Though his wink every time he sang about the book of love WAS starting to piss Sammy off.

“What’s the matter, Sammy?” Gabriel asked, feeling the rising annoyance in the other man “Am I making you uncomfortable? Are you *gasp* homophobic? No wait that was your brother, right?”

Sam just rolled his eyes. He wasn’t and the archangel damn well knew that. Sam was secure enough in his own sexuality to not feel threatened by a man (or archangel for that matter) flirting with him. Plus that wasn’t how he was raised. John, no matter his other faults, had been completely indifferent to sexual orientation, having more of a live and let live approach. He only ever had a problem with gay men flirting with him and as far as Sam knew that had only ever happened once – and had been handled the same exact way he would shot down a woman: with a grunt and a not interested. John had been such a charming man.

Then again this wasn’t a sentiment all hunters shared. Dean, being the one who mainly took care of Sam - combined with his slight germophobic tendencies - had had to listen to his fair share of gay jokes and homophobic comments. Not to mention his ability to recognize roofies on sight that still made Sam shudder. That was something you expected a college girl to know (and even they shouldn’t have to) but not a 6’2 man of 17something lb. who could possible take down several attacker twice his size without actually break a sweat. That was a truly scary fact about Dean. Sometimes, Sam decided, he could be glad he didn’t know all the stories.

So while Gab's words really weren’t even worth the reply he had gotten, they were enough to finally make Cas look up, having been staring at an empty chair across from him for what seemed like eternity. Or at least since sitting down.

“Don’t.” he said. “Just … don’t.”

Don’t talk about him, he meant. Please don’t say his name. Please don’t make me think about him. Please stop.

Don’t.

Gabriel looked at his brother, a thoughtfulness in his eyes Sam had never expected to see there. “Yeah.” The trickster finally said.

I’m sorry, he meant. I didn’t think. I didn’t mean it. I’ll stop.

His belly full, Sam suddenly felt incredibly tired. Like he hadn’t slept in a week. Which he hadn’t. Because passing out drunk didn’t count.

Watching him yawn, Gabriel again surprised Sam “We’ll leave now. You should sleep!” He said voice soft and for a second the human could see the archangel underneath, the divine creature, the leader of angels.

Gabriel winked, effectively breaking the moment.

“Come on, little brother, we have angels to lead!” Sam had never seen the angel look so small, so broken. Even while being in a mental institution he still had seemed to possess a certain grace, a certain dignity – at least in his eyes. Though he would never forget the way his brother had looked at the angel afterwards. Sam didn’t know what happened between them after Dean went to find him, but he had never seen his brother look at someone like that, not even at him, and he too had gone crazy once or twice.

“You can stay if you want to.” He told him softly. Cas looked at him, thankfulness evident. He nodded.

“I will stay then. Do I still have a room here?” Sam thought about the room they had reserved for Cas. He knew for a fact, that it was prepared, the bed made; having everything a human would need to survive. Sam had never said anything to Dean about it, much like he hadn’t commented on Dean getting his own room ready for two instead of one person.

“Yeah, it is still reserved for you. All other rooms are unlocked by the way.” Sam didn’t see the use in telling the angel who had prepared it for him. He knew anyways.

Starring at the two angels in the room, Sam briefly wondered when his life had turned into a greek tragedy, but after yawning again he decided those thoughts could be explored another time. All he really cared about right now was getting some sleep.

 

\----- x -----

Time moves differently when you’re dead. Sometimes a second could be an eternity. Sometimes it wasn’t different at all. And sometimes you could have the same conversation 100 different times over the course of a week without knowing.

Humans. They were so tiring. He glared at the Roadhouse patrons, so wrapped up in fixing issues of the living. Because they used to be friends or something.

Maybe he should go and try to talk to Death again? No, better not. Chuck still remembered vividly the last time he had tried to do that, about 2000 years ago:

Jesus had just been killed. He had been furious. Furious enough to leave his exile and talk to Death, to try to get him to resurrect him. Forever. Death wouldn’t have any of that, said he could have a day or so. He hadn’t even cared about his psychological issues. Chuck had just had a nervous breakdown like ten Millennia ago and Death was all like “Who cares? Stop whining!” Then he had offered him fish soup. FISH SOUP! Thank god there was a volcano next to Pompeii. Take that you stupid Romans!

Maybe he should go write something? Yeah, that was it! If he fixed the Winchesters, people would care about him again, right? That had to work.

Chuck was gonna write something. He was going to fix this. He smiled. Things were looking up.

Nobody noticed him leaving.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finished…  
> Gotta admit, I’m not all that sold on the whole Chuck as god thing, but if it serves the story *sigh*  
> And like I said, when it comes to spoilers, I’ll go along as long as they make sense and Cas dying does not! I noticed that council made a decision but since it’s a stupid one I’ll ignore it – or something.  
> Anyways, that’s it for today, I hope you liked it and I’ll see you next week, same place, same time!  
> Hugs, Kriz


	3. Is a house really a home (when your loved one is gone)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's talk about feelings.  
> Also Sammy is starting to become sober again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I’m back! Did you miss me? Sorry it took so long, there was a family emergency, so for the past few days I haven’t really felt up to writing / editing – really just stayed away from any type of thinking.  
> How do you like my chapter titles btw? (that’s what they are called, right? Sounds wrong …) I’m super proud of them. They take longer that actually writing the chapters ;))  
> Anyways, back to Lebanon, we’re still very angst-y and all that but I promise it will get better … sometime :D  
> Let’s get the show on the road, shall we?

Castiel sighed.

He hadn’t planned on this, hadn’t planned on coming here, had tried to go anywhere but, but in the end it was still where he ended up. It was maddening.

The third time it happened he finally entered.

He had been perfectly fine looking around the library, organizing the things in his room, just generally looking around the bunker and getting reacquainted. And still, somehow he’d always ended up here. How predictable. Like always.

He looked around. The room looked exactly like the first time he’d been in here, except for a second nightstand and bedding. The angel felt himself tear up.

The room was ridiculously clean and organized. Everything had its own specifically assigned place, nothing was just lying around. The bed was accurately made and Cas knew for a fact, that the linen was fresh. Dean had followed a strict plan in keeping his room clean and the day before he had … left had been washing day. He wondered if Sam knew that.

A part of him, a stupid and uneducated part, had thought coming here and being surrounded by all that was Dean would help. But in the end it just made it worse.

The room was so incredibly him. All his things lined up. Everything orderly and clean. Seemingly nothing hidden. A perfectly organized exterior hiding a beautiful mess beneath. So very Dean.

The room still smelled like him. Even after nearly two weeks there was still this strong smell of outdoors and cheap whiskey mixed with fabric softener and old leather. Clean and wild, cheap and homey, and so utterly Dean it made Cas tear up again – and that was him still ignoring the second nightstand.

Because he knew why it stood there. That stupid evening in that stupid motel last summer. Nothing had really been said, nothing had really happened, but still – this could have been a turning point. If it hadn’t been for the world going to shit around them once again.

He remembered how they’d gotten to the motel. He remembered how he again told Dean everything that had happened. He remembered the other man looking at him, smiling and saying “She probably thought you were gay.” He remembered Dean answering his question why she would think that with never mind. He remembered letting it go. He remembered thinking that they could still talk about it tomorrow or next week or next month. He remembered thinking they had an eternity at their hands.

The nightstand was proof that it hadn’t just been him. That Dean had felt the same way. Fucking hell.

“Dammit, Dean!” he whispered. Dammit. What have you done? What did you think? Why?

Tears dropped down his face and hit the floor. Castiel watched them bewildered. Tears. Crying. Such a foreign concept for an angel, something utterly human, and yet, here he was, shedding them just like any human would.

Tears. How strange.

 

\----- x -----

A knock sounded on his door.

Despite the fact that for the past ten minutes Crowley had done nothing but wait for said knock, he still didn’t react immediately. While the past two weeks had helped him regain the respect of nearly every demon in hell, there were still some disloyal and untrusting of his leadership.

Besides it was never wrong to put a demon in his place. Better save then sorry, right?

So he let Flor wait.

Flor – what an interesting demon, really. Born sometime 1922 somewhere in Cantabria, Spain, the girl had sold her soul to protect the farm she had grown up on. (Wars were always such fruitful days for hell.) She died at the mere age of 24, unmarried, without ever having a chance of children or even just a husband - and all that because she wanted to insure some farm animals were save. It was a refreshing reason, really. Crowley highly respected her and her abilities.

Flor had been a demon for more than 30 years now and she was as loyal and truthful as a demon could get. He knew that most of the power players overlooked her, deeming her and her abilities to be beneath them, unimportant and overrated, but Crowley would go as far as to say he LIKED her. The girl was efficient, always got the job done, never unnecessary cruel - and thereby giving all ferocious acts an extra weight and incredible effectivity.

Yes, she was just right for what he had in mind. Crowley smiled.

 

\----- x -----

Sam woke up and for one second, one glorious second, he felt fine. Then he turned on the light.

Excruciating pain flashed through his brain at the sudden brightness and he immediately turned it off again. By Kali, what had he been expecting? Of course it hurt. Spending nearly two weeks drinking without food or sleep would do that to you. He should be glad he still got hung over.

Damn, how had Dean done it? Over the years there were some times when his brother hadn’t gone a day completely sober and he never seemed to show any side effects. Fucking Alcoholic!

He knew the trick was to start out slow and gradually work up to a tolerance, but still … Sammy started regretting every drop of alcohol. So much for dying in his own vomit!

Turning his head, he decided to at least look at the time before he decided for simply staying in his bed for the rest of the day. Maybe he just needed to sleep some more.




Sam didn’t know why he was surprised. He should have expected it. But still, being asleep for a more than a day? It seemed kind of excessive.

But it also gave him the much needed kick in the butt to leave his bed.

He turned the light on again, this time keeping his eyes carefully shut. Instead Sam counted to 30 before actually opening them, giving them time to adjust. In the end, the brightness still hurt, but at least it was manageable and this time he could even see something, so yeah, counted as a win.

Sitting up though wasn’t. A wave of nausea overwhelmed him and before his brain had time to catch up he was running for the next toilet, getting there just in time. So maybe it was to be counted as a win? Yeah, it was.

And hey, taking one step at a time, right?

 

\----- x -----

When he finally decided to open the door, Juliet immediately jumped up to greet the visitor. Pah. So much for her loyalty.

Then again, what did he expect? Flor had been the one to train her, just like she had trained all hellhounds that were currently alive. And gods, if she wasn’t the best they ever had!

“Ah yes, Flor, come in, come in, sit down!” He smiled warmly at her. Crowley had a good feeling about this. A great one actually. “Do you want anything?” He asked, always the good salesman, making people comfortable and welcome, before making his pitch.

“Just to know why I’m here.” She looked mildly uncomfortable, but determent to deal with anything. Good.

Crowley still filled two glasses with whiskey, sliding her one. “As you wish. Do you currently have a young hellhound that is not yet attached? It would be needed soon,” he asked, charming smile firmly in place. Don’t give anything away!

Flor seemed to consider her answer. “There is one, yes. For whom would you need it?”

Crowley’s smile widened “Dean Winchester.”

 

\----- x -----

Sighing he pushed his plate away. After the shower he had felt better, thinking he would be able to eat. Apparently not.

Sam knew he was being whiny and selfish, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. After all who would call him out on it?

His brother was gone and there was no way to get him back. He knew. He had looked. Everywhere.

As soon as Sam found out about the Mark of Cain he had spent every free minute researching and he came up with virtually nothing. As far as he knew, only two things could remove his brother’s mark: Lucifer or God. And okay maybe Death, but yeah, not gonna ask him. He still remembered the last time they had met. God was still MIA and Sam had no hope of finding him anytime soon. And he may know where Lucifer was, but he wasn’t willing to pay the price the devil would demand of him. Not even to save his brother.

The younger Winchester was selfish and codependent, sure, but he wasn’t that selfish and codependent. He wouldn’t let the world burn just for the tiny possibility of getting his brother back; he had some inhibitions after all.

 

\----- x -----

His answer really had frozen the women, and it took her some time to regain her composure. Taking her glass pf Whiskey and emptying it with one big gulp. What a waste!

“What will I get in return?” Interesting. Crowley hadn’t expected her to be this direct. Yes, he liked her.

“What do you know about Dean Winchester, Darling?” Flor frowned. It was a loaded question.

“He is the true vessel of Michael, a hunter, bearer of the Mark, first Knight of Hell”, she recited, but Crowley made a rotating gesture, urging her to go on. No need to state the obvious. “They say, the last time he was in hell, only Alistair was allowed to touch him. They say, his torture was so gruesome, parts of it made even Lilith flinch. They say Alistair never really broke him, even after he started torturing his soul supposedly never darkened; it was just as bright when he left as it was when he entered. They say Alistair trembled with fear when he watched his student. They say Dean Winchester couldn’t be changed. The righteous man never actually fell.”

“Ah yes, and still: Now he is a Knight!” Crowley felt overjoyed. Wasn’t that just grand?

“That doesn’t answer my question, your Majesty.” Flor tried again. Persistent. Good.

Then again, Crowley hadn’t expected anything else. She was a demon after all! “What do you want, my dear?”

“I want in.” Flor’s determination was back. “In on the power play, in on the conspiracies, in on the politics! I’m tired of standing aside, watching.”

“Honey”, he said, voice like satin “if you do this right, you won’t just be IN, you’re gonna be RULING the game! A King of Hell needs more than one Knight after all, doesn’t he?”

Flor grinned. Crowley laughed. He liked her indeed.

Taking the bottle, he filled their glasses again. It was time to celebrate.

 

\----- x -----

“We need to talk.” Back at his old spot in the library with his research spread out in front of him, Sam didn’t even hear the angel enter. He flinched. So much for his hunter reflexes, if it had happened anywhere else, he would be dead now. Dean would probably laugh his ass off.

Straightening the hunter leveled a look at Cas, but the angel stayed quiet. Sammy watched him as he stood in the doorway, eyes on the floor, looking incredibly uncomfortable. If he were human, he’d fidget by now.

“You wanna sit down?” he kept his voice even, trying to sound calm and friendly – not like he wanted to punch him. Which he didn’t - not right now anyways. But if he didn’t start talking soon, well, Sammy wouldn’t make any promises! He really did have a terrible headache.

For a second the angel didn’t react at all, then looking up he waved a hand around before starting towards the table and Sammy, sitting down opposite him. “Better?” the angel asked, his face stoicas ever, looking for all in the world like it was just any other day when he came to discuss heavenly matters – if it weren’t for his puffy eyes. Huh.

Sam nodded. He tried to feel grateful but couldn’t find the emotional capacities. Which was the reasoning he would use in defense of not asking if the angel was okay. He was drained. Castiel didn’t seem to care though. And it’s not like the hunter didn’t know why he had cried – same thing that turned him into an asshole. Again.

“What do you want to talk about?” He asked, finally breaking the silence after some heavy moments. Dean may be okay with starring at the angel until he was ready to talk, but Sam wasn’t. He felt uncomfortable.

Blue eyes stared intently at him “Metatron is being held prisoner in heaven.”

His mouth formed a silent ‘oh’, unsure on how to react. His feelings were all over the place. Was he happy? Angry? Had he hoped he was dead? Had he expected it? Did he want him dead? Just dead or did he want to kill him himself? Was he even worth that? Did he even care? Did he even have it in him to care?

“What are you planning on doing with him?” He didn’t have any illusions – if the angels already had plans for Metatron, Sammy wouldn’t be able to do anything against that. So no need to waste any brain cells. Maybe he wouldn’t get a chance for revenge, anyways.

“We don’t know.” The angel broke eye contact, aiming his laser focus at the tabletop instead.

Sam nodded once again. It couldn’t be easy, he mussed, having to decide the fate of one of their own, especially considering how few the angels’ numbers had grown – both through the recent wars and Cas’ short stint as god. He really didn’t want to trade places.

He sighed. Why was life so fucking complicated? A Greek tragedy, man! His life wouldn’t be more complicated if William Shakespeare had written it.

 

\----- x -----

Chuck was sitting in his usual spot, brainstorming. He had hit a wall. Cas had told the hunter about Metatron and now? He didn’t know how to go on. Should he write him angry? Should he have him ask for revenge? What should happen to his former scribe? He was clueless. Oh, how much he hated having to come up with his storylines. But a book didn’t write itself, did it?

Chuck was sitting in his usual spot, watching the other patrons argue (and okay, maybe he was listening in, they did tend to have some good ideas, so…), when in the blink of an eye his surroundings changed – wood paneling turned into a lush green forest, his barstool became a tree stump and the vodka tonic halfway to his mouth a flower. He signed.

“Hello, Charles.” Joshua sounded as calm as always, but the Prophet still flinched. He briefly wondered if they angel had been outcast as well. Somehow he doubted it.

“Joshua” He tried to convey confidence, but, if the others smile was any indication, failed miserably.

“I have a message for you!” Joshua’s face turned knowing and not for the first time, Chuck wondered if SHE was happy with what he did. Was he allowed to intervene? Or was it all just part of the bigger plan, a plan that he was about to mess up? Damn, he wished he still had his vodka. Or a glass of whiskey. Even a bottle of bear would do for now.

Dropping the flower with a sour look on his face, he stood up and turned towards the angel “And what does God have to say?”

Joshua smiled. This was going to be good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn’t, I’m sorry, I couldn’t! Chuck is not god, I repeat Chuck is NOT god! It would have worked if the show ended with season 5, but not like that, it doesn’t make sense, not after Kevin; no, nope and nein, just senseless, I’m sorry, no, can’t do it!  
> On another note, Crowley has a plan. For Dean. Let’s hope it’s a good one!  
> Hihi, who are we kidding, it’s Crowley! He doesn’t have good plans , everyone is going to die! (Oh man, did I just spoiler? You’ll see :D)


	4. And if your no good for me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, so real talk:  
> I don't know if anyone is actually reading this but whatever...  
> So the past two months a lot of real life stuff happened. A lot of bad real life stuff.  
> And somewhere along the way I lost this fic.  
> I had it planned out, urgh, I really had! But I had to leave it for a while and now my muse is gone :(( and I thought I would wait finding my way back into it, but its just not working and now College is looming over me and urgh, I am a nervous mess! So I decided to dump one responsibility, set priorities ... and that means this fic has to go until writing it stops making me feel aweful!  
> However I still have about abouut 10000 mainly edited words written for this fic, so you'll get them. It will make sense, kind of at least and I will mark things with time jump ...  
> Nope, it won't actually make sense. Feel free to not read it! :D  
> Maybe at some point I'll get around to writing it, maybe I won't

With a deep sigh he pushes the papers away from him. He’s tired. They’ve been at this for hours.

Sitting in the library, Sam and Cas had been looking through books and notes and films and whatever else they could find of the MoL for a way to save Dean. Or at least find him. No such luck though

Sammy had called everyone. Every contact he knew of. Every girlfriend he could think of. Every cop they trusted. Nothing. It was as if Dean had left this plane of existence. Well, he doesn’t come topside very often.

It had been a moot point anyways to think that they could find Dean and a way to cure him. Or just either. Sam would be fine just to find something. Anything.

He looked at the papers, but didn’t pick them back up. His eyes were blurry, his headache was back, and he was thirsty and hungry and tired. He needed a break. But he couldn’t take one. Not when it came to his brother. Dean wouldn’t.

Looking up he watched the other man in the room. Man. Angel. Neither. Either. Both?

Sam was certain Jimmy had long left this body, residing somewhere in heaven probably watching his family endlessly, but it always made him wonder about the body. Because that made it Cas’ right? And that pegged the question was Cas men or angel? What made a man a man and an angel an angel? After all from what he learned not to long ago there wasn’t that big of a difference. So was Cas a man, a human, with the abilities of an angel or was he a very human angel? Was there a difference? Did he want there to be a difference?

By Kali, how his head hurt!

 

\----- x -----

“Dean” Crowley put on his most charming smile. But of course, the boy didn’t react. Like a vampire in one of those cheesy shows he seemed to have flipped the switch on his feelings.

Sadly, that wouldn’t work forever. Sooner or later something was gonna trigger Dean’s emotions and he’ll get the whole spectrum of demonic sensation. And god, if that wasn’t something awful!

“Dean, meet Flor. Flor is our head of the animal department and she’ll help you train your hellhound. Now –“

“Why?” God, that boy demanding, even without his feelings. Maybe even more so, now that he had lost all his self-doubts. He meant what he had said: No one hated Dean Winchester as much as Dean Winchester. Then again Crowley doubted anyone in the history of the world had hated anything as much – okay, maybe God and responsibility, they did not like each other. Resurrecting everyone’s’ favorite angel did not equal helping, buddy boy!

“Well, you’re a Knight of Hell now, so you’ll have to know how to deal with its natural inhabitants. Just because you have the powers to be at the top of the foodchain, doesn’t mean you naturally are! And besides, I’m your King and I said so.” Dean directed his blank stare at Flor. Apparently his explanation had been sufficient. Thank god.

Crowley sighed. He was really starting to miss his emotions.

\----- x -----

“Is something wrong?” Cas frowned. For the past hour Sam had starred at him, hardly even blinking. It was unhuman and thereby unnerving. Not that he didn’t sometimes do the same thing, but mostly only with Dean, hardly ever with anyone else. And the older brother hadn’t seemed to mind it. At least he never said something. And he would have said something, right? He had spoken out about the personal space thing (not that it had changed anything, mind you. Castiel wasn’t the only one with personal space issues!)and the watching him sleep thing, so he would complain about everything else, right?

“Sorry,” Sammy sighed finally looking away from the angel. He blinked a few times, then focused his eyes on him once again. “Just tired, I guess.” Sam smiled cheerlessly. He liked research, yes, but normally research equaled results and this time it didn’t and they had been at this for hours without finding anything helpful and he felt more hopeless with every second that passed by. The younger Winchester felt like he was drowning and this time no one would follow and save him. Even with his brother in hell, even with him in Purgatory, it hadn’t been this bad.

But this time? Dean wasn’t dead. He wasn’t somewhere he needed to be brought back from. This time HE was changed and Sam had to fix him and he didn’t know how to. Then again he had never known how to fix Dean. Maybe that was the problem? Dean had been broken for so long, he couldn’t be fixed again. Only in death. And Sammy didn’t even know how to kill him.

 

\----- x -----

“I still don’t understand why we are trying to reawaken his human side!” Flor complained. Crowley suppressed a sigh, maybe he had overestimated her intelligence?

Then again it WAS a hard concept to grasp, especially if you haven’t dealt with actual feelings in a while. Even he himself was unsure of the wisdom of his plans. Not that he would ever say that out loud, now would he?

“Do you still have feelings? Do you sometimes find yourself feeling disgust or joy or anything?” That seemed to throw her off and rightfully so. Asking a demon about his feelings – his ACTUAL feelings – was all levels of inappropriate and possibly the second most personal question one could ask his kind. Then again he was the king of hell, who should … no, who COULD call him out on it? If he wanted to ask intimate questions, he can, no one to stop him!

Surely you’re wondering what is more personal then asking about a demon’s feelings? Well, imagine selling your soul for three more inches and have everybody know about that. Not that Crowley would know about that, right? Yeah. At least he was king of hell now, no one dared laughing about him these days. Not after the way he had disposed of Abbadon and her minions. Or after he single handedly turned Dean in a demon (Well, okay, kind of, it was his idea, his plan!). Nope, not anymore!

“I do. Sometimes. Though they aren’t very strong.” She answered finally, voice thoughtful.

Crowley nodded. That’s exactly what he had expected. They all did in a way. The thing was demonic feelings were different to those of a human, both stronger and more distant. As demons they were able to ignore them, to control them. And there were some feelings they didn’t have, like remorse or love, nothing that went to deep except maybe hatred. No, generally a demon felt things like lust or greed or well, either associated with the seven deadly sins basically. They didn’t come from nowhere!

[Time jump]

 

\----- x -----

“Tomorrow, Dean.”

“What?” The former hunter turned back around, a puzzled expression on his face.

“Tomorrow we’re gonna take a little trip. See, I need to go see Moose and his stupid angels. And guess what? You’ll have the pleasure to join me!”

 

\----- x -----

A part of him had wanted to protest. To tell Crowley to go fuck himself. To stay in hell and keep fighting, keep torturing, to keep on staying oblivious.

But this would have meant taking control. It would have meant acknowledging he was still in there. That he still existed. That Dean Winchester was still a sentient being. And he couldn’t do that, not yet.

So he didn’t. He followed. He came. He did at he was told.

And that was how Dean found himself in the first place he had called home in 31 years, starring at his own brother, unseeing, unfeeling, like the guard dog he had let himself become.

At least for the moment. Tomorrow everything could be different.

 

\----- x -----

[part missing]

Suddenly it all became too much. All the emotions he hadn’t dealt with the last few months – hell, the last few years – all came rushing back to the front of his mind, stronger than before, stronger than ever.

Dean couldn’t deal. But he could run away.

So he did.

 

\----- x -----

Sam starred at the space his brother had stood just seconds ago.

“Where’d he go?” he demanded of no one in particular.

“Well, seems like someone just had his emotions flipped back on.” Crowley gloated, then in sight of the human’s confused expression, actually decided to elaborate. “Why yes, Moose, despite what you hunters like to believe, demons do feel. We just do so differently – purer, rawer, more basic, less civilized. Which is why most of us prefer not to feel. It can be very … distracting, as you just witnessed.”

Sam and Cas shared a worried. “I’ll find him”, the angel reassured the brother.

“I wouldn’t do that. Not yet anyways. No matter his usual fondness for you, he will kill you right now.” Crowley chipped in. He really appeared to enjoy himself. “Why don’t we play catch up, till Mr. Bloodshed returns? Congrets on getting you wings back, Kitten. Must be nice, being back at the adult table!”

Cas just rolled his eyes. If the alternatives weren’t so much worse, he’d long since killed the demon. But the devil you know, right?

 

\----- x -----

His heart was beating too fast. It sounded like a jackhammer to his heightened senses. Why was it beating anyways? He had thought he was dead. Was he dead? Wasn’t he?

It sped up even more.

He wanted to kill, to maim, to destroy, but his reawakened human side wouldn’t let him.

So he just stood there, breathing way to fast, like if he had run the way instead of simply teleporting himself, while everything he had worked so hard to suppress for the past weeks came rushing back. It was overwhelming.

He really should have told Crowley to go fuck himself.

 

\----- x -----

“Ah why, look at that: a party and nobody invited me. I am offended! Friends, sometimes I wonder if you even like me!” Gabriel remarked, sounding earnestly hurt. You pretend to be dead for just a few years and immediately everyone starts to forget about you. How rude!

Everyone flinched at the sudden appearance of heaven’s current leader in one of the library chairs. Then again with his combined power of both archangel and trickster he was just as powerful as most gods – so no shame in him surprising them! Even if you are the king of hell, right Crowley?

“Crowley, I see you are still alive, what a surprise! And you even got promoted, I heard. Good for you!” He chimed. Crowley’s face contorted into a grimace that vaguely resembled a smile. He always hated those four brothers, especially Gabriel. With the other three one at least knew what their goals were. Gabriel? One day he just lived for mayhem, the next? Saving the world! Argh, why was this his life? He was King, he should be happy, but instead … sometimes he missed Abbadon. Should have let her kill him! Then she would be driven crazy by those idiots. Where do demons go after death? Do they just stop existing? Or could he have watched her? Was she watching him now? He should have someone find that out for him. Couldn’t be that hard, right? Hope you’re enjoying the show, bitch!

“Just like you, it seems. Tell me, is there actually a way to kill you or does even Death avoid you these days?” Gabriel just smirked, he wasn’t that easy to provoke. Besides it was just a ruse, Crowley loved him! Ah, Mesopotamia, good times, really!

“Now now, I was actually here to talk business, but it seems you don’t want to. Imma leave then!”

“What do you want, Gabriel?” Sam was slowly getting fed up, what was this? A train station? Since when was his home Switzerland in the never ending war between heaven and hell? And how much would this interfere with his plans of becoming an alcoholic?

 

\----- x -----

He breathed heavily. Blood was dripping down the knife.

Actually, screw that, blood was dripping down everywhere. Dean was covered in blood.

He swiveled around. The floor was littered in torsos and torn limps and cut of heads.

Dean thought cleaning out a vamps nest would make him feel better.

He had been wrong.

The Knight really needed to get a grip.

He tightened his hold, waiting for a familiar calm that never came.

A scream of agony tore through the quiet. It was his. He wasn’t even aware of opening his mouth.

 

\----- x -----

Sam was getting a headache. They had been at this for hours.

Turns out, Gabriel had a few more tricks up his sleeves. Apparently an archangel could read the tablets – because each had one assigned to protect.

Luzifer controlled the demon one – he had created them after all.

Michael’s was the angel tablet – being the oldest brother and assigned heavenly leader in god’s absence.

Raphael and the Leviathans, both being extremely power hungry and all that. He could see the resemblance. Ah, like Sam had needed more reasons to dislike the dead brother.

And Gabriel, what a surprise, was responsible for the fourth, the only unfound tablet: The human one.

Not that this little lesson in heavenly history was all that important. It was just the only part Sammy had been able to follow. He really didn’t like politics.

Gabriel wouldn’t tell them where his tablet was and no one wanted to know. Neither trusted anyone else to wield the power. Or actually wanted this kind of power. Progress, I guess.

But the important part was – despite Michael being a self-loving, arrogant, holier-than-thou ass of a brother, who thought himself more important than anyone else when in reality he couldn’t even think for himself and just followed orders like the good little soldier Daddy had wanted him to be (Gabriel’s words, not his, he would never say something so mean about an archangel, even a imprisoned one – not that he disagreed. While Luzifer may have been his main tormentor, he still had had time to get to know the other brother in the cage. His opinion wasn’t very high.) he had been able to read most of it and – because he was an archangel and really, could everyone stop underestimating him? He wasn’t that bad of a guy, so stop with the bitch face, Sam – he remembered them, including the parts about how to close and open heaven.

Which, in theory, sounded great.                                                                                       

But in reality Gabriel needed both Sam’s AND Crowley’s help to work the spell, which was the reason for his headache: The King of Hell wouldn’t just simply help, he had terms and those terms needed to be discussed. Because souls stuck in a veil, slowly going mad and starting to wreak havoc weren’t reason enough.

Okay, he was the king of hell, driving people mad was a hobby of his. Driving people mad had actually created him!

However he had never pegged the Trickster for a bureaucrat as well, but then again, he always seemed to find new ways to surprise him. Oh what a time to be alive!

In the end he didn’t even noticed drifting off to sleep until he was jerked awake by everyone getting up.

“So it is settled then: 30% of the souls, devoid or remorseful will no longer negate any and all crimes committed, I get first pickings when it comes too cults plus all active members of Scientology and the souls of hunters will be treated like every other soul – you can’t save your favs and we can’t steal them.” Crowley and Gabriel shock hands. Finally.

“Well, that was exhausting. Cassie, are you coming with me or do you have other business to attend.” Gabriel inquired.

The angel, having stayed quiet this whole time, shock his head. “It’s time”, was all he said, then disappeared. The trickster shrugged and followed, leaving Sam and the King of Hell alone.

Shit. He really needed to learn a disappearing spell. ASAP.

“Well, Moose, I’d love to stay and talk but it I actually do have other matters to attend.” Crowley announced.

Conceal, Sammy, don’t feel. Don’t let him know.

He shrugged. “Go ahead. I’ll be fine.”

The demon blinked out of existence. Sam rejoiced. Finally alone. Time to get drunk!

 

\----- x -----

He knew the angel was there.

Dean didn’t understand why Castiel bothered to try and stay invisible to him. He could feel the newborn archangels powers. Because that what he really was. Sammy probably didn’t know and he wasn’t sure if he himself was aware, but that’s what he was. And he probably had been for a while. Even before losing his grace. Getting resurrected by god apparently got you promoted.

In the end he couldn’t take the silence anymore. The quiet stares. The worry.

“How did you find me?”

“Who says I ever lost you?” Castiel inquired enigmatic as ever, but at least he finally came to sat down next to him.

“Sam is worried about you.” The angel continued before Dean could really contemplate the hidden meanings of his words. Because he nothing he ever said was as simple as it seemed. Leastwise not when talking to him.

“Sammy’s always worried about something. He’s a Winchester. He’s my brother.” Dean smiled wryly, feeling calmer now then he had felt in a long time. He looked over to see the same expression on his angel’s face.

It was a rare thing to see him smile and Dean liked to pretend it were his words not thoughts about Sam which made him smile. Because Dean loved those smiles and the way those blue eyes seemed to light up. Like a flame that burned to hot. Eyes that haunted him, always watching, always wary, except in those few brief moments when Dean made him smile.

Yeah, Dean loved his smile.

“I like the new neighborhood. Before I lost my grace, I always came here when I felt confused about my own significance. When I needed to be put into my place.” Castiel continued, unaware of Dean’s thoughts.

“Not Jimmy’s?” Dean asked, him smile barely noticeable widening. He didn’t know why the thought made him happy, didn’t want to think about the meaning behind it. He just felt. Just for now, he’ll have time to overanalyze everything later. Like the teenage girl he apparently was.

“Claire is too receptive. She would have felt me. I’ve hurt them enough. I didn’t want to add to their grief.” Dean understood. Jimmy’s soul had long ago died and gone to heaven. Cas’ body was just dead flesh, nothing more.

“Did you love her?” The question caught Dean of guard. He had to contemplate his answer.

Anyone else would have gotten a punch for even asking. None would get an answer, not even Sammy.

But this was Castiel, his angel, his friend, his FAMILY. He saved him from hell, rebelled for him, helped him stop the Apocalypse, the Leviathans, the mere thought of him had gotten him through most of his time in Purgatory. Cas was allowed to ask. And no, he didn’t want to think about what that ment, thank you very much!

“I loved what we had together.” The words were carefully phrased, hiding his true thoughts: That he didn’t know, that he feared he only used her, that he wasn’t sure he was even capable of love anymore – even before turning into a demon.

Obsession, yes, Dean was all too familiar with the feeling. Same goes for lust, for hate, for yearning and need, but love? The big L? Dean didn’t know. He didn’t want to know. Because feeling was just too confusing.

And it was only worse as a demon. Somehow Dean had assumed they didn’t feel, but in reality the opposite was true: They felt more.

All his old feelings were still there and even stronger now. They were rawer. Stripped of all human pretenses, bared down to their animalistic nature, making Dean’s feelings more confusing than ever. And that said something.

Dean briefly wondered if his angel knew that. He could only assume.

“Why did you take on the Mark?” Once again the deep voice changed the subject. Or maybe not. Maybe all those questions were connected and Dean’s animalistic brain just couldn’t see how. Great. He’d always been a grunt and apparently that had only become worse as a demon. Now he really would spent eternity as a stupid person, just brawns, no brain.

“I stopped Sam from closing hell. I couldn’t lose him again. And because of that countless people had to die. I had to do something. I had to fix it.” He spoke slowly. Going through his memories was still hard, even though he felt disconnected from them, like they were his, but not his. It was a strange feeling.

The angel looked at him, a softness in his eyes that Dean both loved and dreaded “We’ll find a way to fix this. Just accept it. For the moment.”

Another rare smile. Another sparkle in his eyes.

And Dean just let go. Finally let go. Stopped thinking, overthinking and analyzing everything that had happened. For the moment he just was.

Sitting there, on the sidewalk, starring at Liza’s and Ben’s new home, he let go. And just was. He accepted. For the moment.

Dean didn’t know it at the time, but at the end, that was all it took: Acceptance.

That, and the presence of an angel, with eyes like blue fire and a rare smile and too deep voice.

[Time Jump]

 

\----- x -----

“You really don’t like dogs, do you?” Flor was leaning against a wall, watching Dean and his interactions with Jefferson. He was bad at this. Really bad. It was pathetic.

He’d rather train a child to do his bidding. Was that an option? He should ask Crowley.

“Nah, not really!” Dean turned on his best smile. Maybe he could charm her into letting him go early. Maybe it would work this time.

Flor huffed. Apparently not. Change of tactics.

“You do? Like those beasts?”

“They are animals.” Flor replied, not in the least bit impressed by his act. Damn.

“Your different. Not like the rest, I mean.”

“So are you, Dean Winchester.” She knew what he was doing. And he would fail.

“Ruby told us, she was different –because she still remembered being human. Do you –“

That made her laugh. “I still can’t believe how everyone fell for her shit. That lying skank, she never thought about anyone but herself, even when she still human.” Dean couldn’t agree more.

“And besides, haven’t you noticed? We all remember being human! We are souls, as scared and twisted as we are. If we stopped remembering we’d go crazy – and others would kill us. That’s how it works.” Flor shock her head. Hunters. They had no idea.

“So why’d you do it? Sell your soul, I mean.” Dean knew he was being noise. He didn’t care.

“What do you know about Spanish history, Knight?”

He considered his answer, then shrugged. He didn’t know anything. The woman nodded.

“Last century, there was a civil war. I grew up in the north, on a farm. When the fighting started – see, my family, we weren’t rich, all we had was our home and our animals, so I sold my soul to protect them. It worked. My family know owns many farms – very rich, despite our economic crises!” Flor smilied. She really didn’t regret anything. And besides, being a demon wasn’t so bad – and it sure had perks!

“Now, back to you and Jefferson …“

[Time Jump]

 

\----- x -----

[Part Missing]

“You can’t just reopen the gates of heaven, my demonic friend!” Wow, just wow. In the time since his absence (or death? Had Gabriel been dead? Could you even kill Gabriel? Was he maybe to annoying for even Death to deal with?) Dean had really forgotten how irritating the Archangel was - something that really seemed to border on a miracle right about now. Because how could he ever forget this arrogant bastard? Maybe it was because of the way he died? Because he had kind of redeemed himself with it? Because without him they never could have stopped Luzifer? Maybe?

He took a deep breath. His hand on the blade tightened. If to get ready to stab an angel or just to calm himself, Dean couldn’t say.

“But you just said…” Sam started to ask, while he just raised his eyebrows and Cas … Was he watching the sunset? Really? Now?

“I know what I just said, Sammy. Really, aren’t you supposed to be the clever one? No one is ever what they seem to be, right? Now, as for what I said: I just told you we could reopen heaven, I never said we could reopen the gates!” Gabriel explained. His smile was kinda smug, like he knew how annoying he was and just did it to get a rise out of them. Probably true. Bastard!

“Isn’t that kind of the same thing?” Sam, bless his heart, tried again.

“No, it‘s not. Or how do you explain people being able to get into heaven at the moment?” Gabriel asked. “Right, that wouldn’t make sense, would it? Now, we can’t reopen those gates because they are sealed with little Cassie’s grace and removing it would result in a nuclear explosion big enough to blow up all of our lovely heavenly host. What we can do is built NEW gates to enter heaven.”

Arrogant bastard. Stupid smug smile. Dean was getting surer and surer that before the day was over he’d try again to see if the Archangel really could not be killed. Yeah, let’s stab him with the First Blade, see if he could come back

from that.

Dean’s smile earned him a disapproving glance from Cas. Like he knew what he was thinking. Probably did. Dean contemplated finding new friends, ones that couldn’t yet read his mind.

“And you know how to do that?” Sam asked, ignoring the way his the other two men were having an intense starring contest instead of listening. He would swear under oath that if they were still preschool children and not grown ass men, one of them would take out his dick right about now to compare sizes.

Maybe that could be the solution? A way to finally clear the air of all the pent up sexual frustration and unresolved feelings that had been steadily growing over the past few years? After all, Sam wasn’t naïve enough to actually belief his brother was straight.

And god, he needed to stop thinking about his brother’s love life. And his sexual preferences. And his dick. Especially his dick. He knew way to much about that as it was.

Not that it wasn’t to be expected. They grew up in close quarters, of course they knew a lot about things like that, too. And Dean WAS his best friend and it was normal for best friends to know things like that about each other, right? RIGHT?

It wouldn’t even be an issue if it weren’t for those stupid freaking books. Chuck was to blame. God, he hated Chuck. And slash fans. And Becky. Especially Becky. Okay, maybe he didn’t hate her, but he sure as hell –

A cough snapped him out of his thoughts. Focusing on the people around him, Sam found them all staring at him. “Anything you wonna share with the class?” Gabriel asked with one of his trademark smirks. Like he knew what Sam had been thinking about. Bastard. Not like he could read –

Could angels read thought, if they weren’t directed at them? Could they? Oh my god –

[Time Jump]

 

\----- x -----

[Part Missing]

“Please, I’m a father!” Sam could pinpoint the exact moment Dean lost control. One second he was leaning against the wall in a bored manner, playing with his knife like it was the most interesting thing ever – the next he was standing in the middle of the room, eyes pitch black, the witch in a chokehold.

Okay, maybe that one was kinda obvious.

Sam stepped forward out of instinct, but a hand on his arm stopped him. Cas. Right. Because Dean wasn’t his brother right now, he was a demon and he would crush him. He nodded towards the angel.

“A father, huh?” The demon sneered. “Ya know, my Daddy was just like you – obsessed bastard! Couldn’t care less about his kids, only about his revenge. He had me take care of my brother when I was still a child myself – because he couldn’t be bothered! I know what you did – all of it. I’m a demon and you bound yourself to hell the second the first spell left your lips. So congrets, you will die. And you will do so the slowest way possible!”

“Dean.” Sam had to do something. His brother could be scary, yes, but this? This wasn’t his brother anymore.

The demon didn’t react. Angel and Human looked at each other, wearing reflecting masks of worry and fear. They had to stop the bloodshed.

[Time Jump]

 

\----- x -----

[Part Missing]

The waiter didn’t stop flirting after that and it was starting to get on Sam’s nerves. Finally he snapped.

“Listen, you’re a nice guy and all, but I am really not interested!” Sam tried.

“Are you sure? ‘Cause don’t knock it till you tried it, Bro.” He seriously wouldn’t stop.

“Yeah, been there, done that. You are not my type.” Apparently he lost his filter somewhere on the road.

Dean looked up. Amelia glanced at him, Don resumed starring, Garth and Bess stopped talking. Even Gabriel smirked. Only Cas seemed uninterested, too busy memorizing the wood grain of the table.

“Oh yeah, do tell lil brother!” Grinning wider than he had in weeks, Dean looked at him with a mischievous glint in his eyes. But Sammy would have none of that. Not now. Not while his ex-girlfriend and her husband set next to them. Not when he was still adjusting to a world that stopped making sense. Again.

“Yeah? How about we swap stories? I tell you mine and you tell me yours!” He snapped, simply snapped, his face, his voice, hell his fucking posture conveying just how much he wanted to hurt someone, anyone, him in that very second. How hard he would try to get a rise out of him. He was ready to do anything and everything, anger pouring out of him like a thick cloud – because he was sick of this, of all of this, of those games. Dean’s smile dropped.

“Leave him alone.” Cas didn’t even bother looking up, disinterest clear in his deep voice. Well, it was made from solid wood for once, which was fascinating – for some people.

“Yeah, listen to the wifey, Sammy!” Gabriel interjected, seemingly rejoiced at the idea of coming violence and bloodshed that lay in the air. Now Dean had enough. Why was he even there?

“You know what?” He asked, sounding just as pissed off as his brother “I’mma leave! I don’t have to eat, anyways. I’ll just go and solve this case. Alone!” Grabbing his jacket he jumped up making it five, maybe six steps before his arm was grabbed. Damn. Cas.

“Dean.” That was all he said. All he needed to say really. The message was still clear.

Dean – don’t be like that.

Dean – don’t go.

Dean – I’m sorry.

Dean – Just stay. For me. Please.

One word - so much meaning. Fucking subtext! Gods how he hated it! Giving anyone a chance to hear what they wanted to hear in it, but in the end leaving so much room for interpretation that nothing seemed certain anymore. Because really, what was the truth and what was simply his brain hoping for something else?

“I don’t need your help!” He jerked his arm away, making another step. Stopping. Whirling around “You know what, Cas?” he asked, “BLOW ME!”

6 years.

Dean knew Cas for 6 years now.

6 years ago Castiel grabbed Dean tight and raised him from perdition.

6 years ago they had first come face to face – in a barn, somewhere in Nowhere, US.

6 years of saving the world together. Of close calls and resurecctions.

6 years of meaningful looks.Of meaningless One-Night-Stands.

6 years of yearning. And longing.

6 years of trust and betrayal. Of heartbreak and devastation.

6 years of trying to find words when no words where left.

6 years. And it all boiled down to this moment.

This moment in some town Dean had already forgotten the name of.

This moment in a restaurant watched by people they had never met and would hopefully never see again.

This. Fucking. Moment.

Like he said – Dean hated subtext.

Dean stared at Cas. Cas stared at Dean.

Cas took a step forward. Dean took one back.

Cas took another step. Dean stayed in his spot.

The angel took another. And another one. With each step slowly inching closer to the demon that was frozen in front of him, till they came toe to toe, starring at each other, an eternity happening in one look. As always.

“Was that a challenge?” Every word was like its own sentence, not really a question, but not really a statement either, caught somewhere in between – just like them.

Suddenly Dean wanted to run. He wanted to hide. Wanted to kill, wanted to be back in his oblivion, wanted to not care, to stop feeling. Because never in his life had he felt this open – this vulnerable. This exposed. This ALIVE.

“Dammit, Cas.” Finally breaking the silence, his words barely a whisper, but in the quiet restaurant they felt like a shout. Cas took a step back. Dean whirled around, leaving the restaurant, actually running, despite his knowledge of the angel finding him anywhere. But then again he wouldn’t hide.

Cas’ expression was unreadable as he stepped back to the table. While it had been clear as day what had just transpired, no one seemed to be sure how it ended.

Everyone held their breaths. Would he sit back down?

Cas grabbed his jacket, slowly walking out of the restaurant, not sparring a second glanze.

But he wasn’t in a hurry. Not anymore. He would find Dean anywhere. Not that the knight would hide. Well, he better not.

The door closed behind Castiel, taking the eerie quiet that had befallen everyone with him. Slowly sound seemed to return to the restaurant, people resumed eating, started talking again. Someone laughed. Someone chuckled nervously.

On our heroes table though, time seemed to have stopped. Still.

“So, 10 bucks says Dean-o tops but lil Cassie stays in charge. Anyone in?” Gabriel drawled, breaking the spell, the first word alone drawn out obscenely.

Sam didn’t know if he should cry or scream.

Bess started giggling. He joined in.

 

\----- x -----

In the Bunker Dean sat at the edge of his bed in a position that was wildly known as the pose of male reflection: Sitting on the edge, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

He was also desperately trying not to think, not to reflect upon what had been happening in this bed for the past few … well, hours. It was unclear how much time had passed, because he felt like none had, but also a lifetime.

He couldn’t really remember how he ended up like this. He remembered having to pee (because apparently while demons may not feel the need to eat or sleep, drinking fluids was still necessary). He remembered returning to his room. He remembered Cas mumbling about being right back. He remembered Cas leaving. That was about it.

Suddenly a bottle of bear appeared in his line of vision (so much for not thinking). Looking up he found himself staring into familiar blue eyes. Eyes he always got lost in. Cas also sported an even for him unseen case of bed hair. Like someone had run their hands through them. Repeatedly. And pulled at them. Also repeatedly.

Dean wouldn’t say he had, but yeah: He had.

Looking down at him, Cas’ lips formed a barely there smile. Dean took the bottle. He lifted it. He drank. He handed it back. The smile widened.

Sitting down next to him, Cas took a deep drag himself before saying “Is this the moment where we talk about what this all means? Where we stand? Feeling wise.”

Dean felt like running again. Because hell, if he knew, he’d never done this before either, he had no idea how these kinds of things worked. But then again, he was the human (or at least former human) so he did know how these kinds of things work.

“Not if you don’t want to” he explained softly. Cas seemed to contemplate this, his face thoughtful. Finally looking at Dean, he simply shrugged “We don’t really have to, I guess. All I wanna know is - Did you mean it?”

Did he mean wh – oh fucking hell, he knew that would be a problem!

See, Dean could sometimes go days without saying a word, no problem, and really he wasn’t one to waste his words, but gods there were some situations when he would talk a mile a minute: Basicly anytime he was nervous. Or when he was embarrassed. Or emotional. When there was too much adrenaline during or after a hunt. Before sex. During sex. After having sex. Really, anything connected to sex made him talk.

He wasn’t really sure what caused this word vomit. Part of him assumed it was self-consciousness (because he knew he wasn’t perfect. He knew he had way too many scars. He knew he didn’t look like Sam – not that the average male did, but gods that boy could cause a complex!) mixed with excitement and well … nervousness. Because sex was never the same. Sex was always new. Sometimes you would meet someone and just click – on every level. Sometimes it was really awkward. And sometimes it was all at once. A perfect imperfection.

Anyway, back on track (focus, Dean, focus): Word vomit. So, usually his words weren’t a problem. He basically said the same stuff every guy said in those moments: Nice, kinda dirty stuff about them, about what was going to happen, about anything really. Just completely unconnected words – word vomit.

But with Cas even his vomit had been different. Because yeah, six years of pent up feelings, that’s why. So the stuff he had said, that hadn’t just been your usually word vomit. At least not only. Or maybe it had been - except for the fact that Cas was not just someone he had met at a bar hours before, but someone he knew. Had history with. Had feelings for. Giving everything a meaning.

So maybe the stuff Dean had said pre, intra and post sex for once had not just been unconnected word vomit: His words had actually meant something. Probably. Possibly. Maybe.

Well, if he meant it.

“Maybe. I think so. I don’t know. I guess. Probably. Do you want me to mean it?” Dean rambled. Again.

Cas looked at his toes. His brows furrowed. He looked back up into his eyes. “Yeah”, the angel finally decided “Yeah, I want you to mean it.”

“Good”, Dean smiled “then it’s settled. Guess we don’t have to have the big conversation after all!”

Cas laughed then, taking another swig, announced “That was different!”

Dean joined in. “Yeah”, he said “tell me about it.”

And sitting there at the edge of his bed in the first place he had called home in 31 years, laughing with his best friend about the surrealism of the situation, he thought to himself how this friends to lovers thing really wasn’t that hard. Because everything was exactly the same as before, except that now he apparently got to see Cas naked. Which defiantly topped just imagining it.

And hey, just a few hours in and already they settled the whole “I love you” – thing! Dean actually felt positive about this.

 

\----- x -----

Entering Heaven Cas immediately noticed something was going on. And it seemed to be his fault.

Angels were gathered in little bundles all over the place, whispering in agitation. And that stopped anytime he passed. So, despite having a rather big workload already waiting for him, he went to go find Gabriel. The Archangel had to know what was up, right?

“Heya, Cassie, how was your night?” Gabriel seemed cheerful, as always. Maybe he didn’t know what was going on?

“Brother, the other angels seem fairly concerned, do you know what is going on?” He asked, ignoring the others comment. They really had bigger problems!

“Well, turns out they aren’t that fond of you … associating with a certain Winchester.” He explained, a smirk on his face.

“Associating? I don’t understand. My friendship with both Winchester brothers is wildly known and him being a Knight of Hell does not change that, in fact it is even more reason to – Oh.” Cas stopped mid-rant. Associating. Oh.

“But how do they … Gabriel did you …” The Seraph was shocked. How could anyone know? He wasn’t ashamed, it wasn’t that. It was just … this was private … his privacy had been invaded … deeply.

“Blast my horn while you got yours blasted?” The Trickster drifted off mid-sentence, the joke apparently to cheap even for him to laugh at. “Why, I did not. Seriously, sometimes the opinion other have about me, it makes me wonder. What did I do to deserve this?”

[Time Jump]

 

\----- x -----

[Part Missing]

Charlie woke up feeling completely rested. She couldn’t remember the last time she slept this well – maybe before she left for OZ?

It wasn’t that she had had trouble sleeping in OZ, it had just been so weird sometimes, so much had been happening, the redhead just never seemed to fully relax. But now she was home (or at least back) and she felt relaxed and calm, the feelings kinda foreign after all this time. She smiled.

Throwing on some clothes, she quickly got ready to hunt down some coffee. This was the bunker after all; someone had to have coffee, right? Despite the fact that Sammy was married and Dean Crowley’s number two – they were Winchesters, instead of blood they had a mixture of Coffee and Whiskey flavored with regret and self-loathing running through their veins (If you believed those books, but then again, Charlie had found them shockingly accurate so far.).

But, upon entering the kitchen, the figure hunched over the coffee cup was not male but female. Amelia. For a second, the computer expert faltered, her long forgotten social anxiety making an unforeseeable return. Then the young mother looked up, and Charlie stepped inside – everything else would have just been awkward.

“Hey”, a friendly smile. God (gods?) she was pretty. Her and Sam made one beautiful couple – and baby. “You’re up early. Sleep well?”

“Actually, better then in forever! Dean’s right, memory foam is truly amazing.” Amelia laughed delighted. She really liked the redhead, even though she was still about shocked about her randomly showing up. Other hunter? Happened all the time, but hardly anyone just stepped through a door, making Charlie a first – oh, there had been many firsts in Amelia Richardson’s life since meeting Sam Winchester, none of which she truly regretted.

“Don’t I know that? Sadly, my child doesn’t” She joked, trying to get rid of all the awkwardness still between them. Everything was just so weird. Charlie smiled. “Everyone else is enjoying it so. Sam should be up in a short bit, despite me having to drag him away from his research just 5 hours ago – those boys really seem to find sleep overrated!”

Charlie laughed. Didn’t she know? If you believed those books, then Dean used to sleep an average of 3 hours a night since he was merely 10 – and Sam wasn’t much better, sleeping 6 hours tops even during Stanford. Freaks of nature.

“You got any idea when our dynamic duo returns?” She asked, trying to sound casual. It was just … there was this vibe … her gaydar – Charlie had never met Castiel before yesterday, she only read the books – and they already had some heavy implications. Not like there had been many yesterday – or any at all for that matter. No, just some casual starring and silent conversation and stuff, much of it with Sammy participating, but still … those vibes.

Amelia’s eyes twinkled, dynamic duo – subtle “Oh, Cas comes when Cas comes, no real pattern there. Dean will probably show up in an hour or though – usually he’s home at the crack of dawn, drinking coffee and cleaning thing, but he said, he’d be late today – something about a new batch? He doesn’t tell much and I don’t really ask.”

Charlie tilted her head. She wanted to know, but she didn’t really want to ask. Then again, who better to ask, then his sister-in-law? Better then to having to ask Sam. Or a member of said duo!

“So, when we say dynamic duo – does it allude to merely platonic bond of two dudes or are we talking …” She broke up, unsure how to continue. God (gods?) this was awkward. Maybe she should just ask Dean, she was sure that would be less embarrassing. Yeah, she’d do that. They had always been so straight (haha, no pun intended) with each other, she would do just that! Even if he was a demon now and went from scary-when-you-first-meet-him-and-if-the-situation-requires-it-psychopath to pee-my-pants-he-may-or-may-not-plotting-to-kill-us-all-but-we-wouldn’t-even-notice.

Amelia looked at her, already smiling. “… Boyfriend and Boyfriend? Well, while I don’t know, what they are calling each other, they ARE together – as together as those two can be. Cas really isn’t the openly affectionate type and I don’t think Dean actually does couples behavior.”

“He does.” A voice interrupted them. Turning around, they saw Sam leaning in the door, somehow managing to look both close to falling asleep again and like he could noticed every dust particle setting. “Dean actually used to be a very domestic guy – at least he was back with Liza. But I guess things change.”

“It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, dear Sammy.” A new voice exclaimed. Dean appeared leaning against the kitchen counter looking as smug as ever. Which made him even scarier.

Sam just shrugged. He wasn’t impressed with the demon and he never really would be. Dean was his brother and would always be his brother – no matter what happened. “Thought you’d be late today.”

“Yeah, I know. But turns out religious extremists are not what they used to be. Man, had I been looking forward to them, and then it was so boring – most of them are already halfway broken!” He exclaimed cheerfully, though the underlying annoyance could still be felt. It felt like a strong perfume, infiltrating every essence of the room. “You sure you guys don’t want them?” His eyes focused on the space behind Sam, just as the angel appeared out of thin air. This time Charlie couldn’t hide her little jump.

“No. There was a reason we did no argue for them.” The angel answered, then tiled his head. “You smell.” He told the demon with disdain.

“Really? Damn, I just showered!” Dean stated. If he had been a girl (or maybe just not Dean Winchester) Charlie was sure he’d have smelled himself right about now. But then he was badass macho man – he had way more self-control! He’d never smell himself. “Maybe you should help me then – shower I mean. Since I can’t seem to get rid of it all alone.”

Cas sighed. Dean winked. Charlie chuckled. Amelia smiled, while Sam just seemed to ignore them. During the brief exchange he had managed to push away from the door, enter the room and fill a cup of coffee – which apparently demanded his full attention now. Because drinking the dark liquid was more than a tradition, it was a necessity, a way of life, a sacred act! And the easiest way to avoid hearing things he didn’t want to hear. Dean was his brother after all – how often would he have to point that out?

Dean and Cas, though, were obvious to their brother’s thinking (because who was he kidding, Cas was more than just the in-law). The men were caught in one their starring matches, one that the angel seemed to lose when he sighed again and then obediently turned around. Already walking away he announced “I really should be in heaven right now, there seems to be a new crises on the way!” Dean winked and blinked out of existence, his soft chuckle nothing more than a gust of wind.

[Time Jump]

\----- x -----

[Part Missing

They said goodbye in typical Winchester fashion – On backwards dirt road, leaning against the impala, both a bear in their hands, surrounded by cornfields with the setting sun illuminating it.

It was fucking beautiful.

It wasn’t about saying goodbye to each other – they would see each other in a few weeks, Dean would call him – but in fact they were ending an era.

No matter what they said, no matter how hard they pretended, they both knew Sam would never come on a hunt with his big brother again. That wasn’t who he was anymore.

Sam Winchester wasn’t a hunter anymore. He was a Men of Letters. He was a husband. Soon he would be a father. No, he wasn’t a hunter. Not anymore.

But then again, had he ever really been?

“You sure your don’t want me to come with you?” He still tried. Still pretended, like so many newly married men did: That he was still the same guy, that nothing had changed, that he was just the same. But it wasn’t about that really.

“No, I’ll be fine. You just do your Librarian thing, I’ll do the hunting!” Dean grinned, unable to no mock his brother. Grown up and all, they were still siblings and that’s what siblings did.

“But you’ll call me, right? If something happens!” His smile widened. No matter what, Sam worried. Sam would always worry. It was in their blood.

“Sammy, I’ll be fine! I’m a Knight of Hell, I can’t be killed. And besides”, he added with a wink “I’ve got my angel riding shotgun!”

Sam smiled. Yeah, it was true. Everything was fine in Heaven, Hell and Earth.

At least for the moment.

It wasn’t always that easy and their story wasn’t perfect. Neither Sam’s nor Cas’ love were enough to cure Dean. There was always a part of him that thrived of bloodshed, that relished in the pain of his enemies, that was cruel and angry and downright evil.

But then again, neither of them had expected it. They hadn’t expected miracles and they never got them.

What they got was reality. What they got was twisted and dark and ugly, but also true and real and theirs!

The love of his family wasn’t enough to save Dean, but it was enough to keep him human.

And when Samuel Winchester, loving father, devoted husband, caring brother, head of the Men of Letters (an organization that had thrived in the past years, having now many hundred members from all over the world and connections to all important government operations) died many, many years in the future, he died knowing there was still goodness in his brother. And there always would be.

And this, my friends, is how it ended, this marvelous story of full of love and heartbreak and … love. The grand story that never should have been: With an old man dying and thereby ripping away the last connection the world had to his favorite angel and demon, until all three of them became mere legends the children told in the dark nights in the bunker and they would giggle and it would be a long time until they found out, all those stories’ they had been told where real.

A story that could have been far less painful, if it weren’t for a fateful night in late November 2005 when two brothers decided to smash every mirror they could find, giving them enough bad luck for three lifetimes.

So long and thanks for all the fish.

 

\----- x -----

Chuck sat on his couch. He was fidgeting. It was fucking annoying.

Bobby looked up. Pinned him with a look. Sighed.

“I’m done.” Chuck inhaled audibly. He looked at the pages in front of Bobby, then at Bobby.

“What do you think?” He squeaked. Damn, he really wasn’t drunk enough for this.

“A bunch of broken mirrors? That’s how ya’r gonna explain all the tragedies in those boys lifes?” Bobby exploded “And you couldn’t write it any cheesier, could ya? And what’s with ‘so long and thanks for all the fish?’”

“It’s a quote.” Chuck tried not to flinch. Endings never where his thing.

“Yeah, I know, Dean made me watch the movie!” Chuck tried not to … well, chuckle. He knew for a fact that Dean had not only seen the movie, but also read the books. ALL of them.

Bobby starred down at him. He really wasn’t happy. Maybe Chuck should rewrite some parts?

“Leave him alone! Endings are hard.” Karen injected entering from the kitchen. Bobby huffed. His wife smiled. The boys were fine – and that’s what counted in the end, right?

 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope it made at least soooome sense! :((  
> Hugs, a girl waiting for her muse

**Author's Note:**

> So, that was that. I hope you liked it!  
> Also it won't stay this sad - happy days will come, just, you know, endure the rain for the sake of a rainbow, or something :))  
> Comments are very welcome, just leave them here or come visit me on tumblr:  
> [ here ](http://huffelpuffed.tumblr.com)  
> Until next time, Kriz.


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